


simple fantasy

by saturno



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amputation, Cannibalism, Cooking, D/s, Daddy Kink, F/M, POV, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Throat Fucking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturno/pseuds/saturno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dog slave diaries</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a series of thoughts allegedly recorded by the final victim in a diary found in the killer's bathroom

1.

_this is a little while after one leg has already been removed and eaten. the second leg has been recently removed and my arms are simply strapped behind me so i'm not a bother. daddy is preparing everything for cooking for that night and subsequent storage of everything else in the freezer for later. skinning, deboning, butchering into good pieces for different things. i'd like to be in the room for this, someplace out of sight, under the kitchen table maybe, like i'm a dog begging silently for a piece of what they're eating. something pan-fried that will make the whole house smell amazing. some seared steak maybe. rosemary and garlic and butter. medium rare with potato gratin and fried green beans. a glass of some nice cabernet sauvignon or other. whatever they decide. i'm stupid and i don't know much about these things. i'm doped up on painkillers and starving because i've been starved for two days before this, so all the rich smells are cloying and heavy and choking. i think i'd get sick if i ate any of it but i want it regardless._

 _bodysquirm up to their legs under the table and lean in hard not enough to be a nuisance but enough that my presence is known, and i can hear them eating me slow. sometimes they put a hand under the table with fingers that they've wet in the meat’s juices and they let me suck them clean and nibble on their fingertips for more. i'm greedy and i can't help myself. sometimes they reach under with their glass of wine for me to sip from and i can't believe my luck, and it interacts with the painkillers and fucks me up worse. i'm soaking wet and when they finally offer me a piece of meat in the palm of their hand, i eat it and it’s the most delicious thing i've ever tasted. i don't get to lick their hand clean because they’re wiping the grease off on my face and in my hair, and i love that even more. i can't touch myself and i don't have enough leg left to rub my thighs together or sit up to press against their shin, or even the wherewithal to try to sit up from the drug and alcohol interaction, so it’s agony and i'm whining pathetically and trying to nuzzle at their thigh for something. i'm unbelievably greedy. knowing i tasted so good and they've enjoyed me so much is drowning me. when they get their dick out and force it down my stupid throat, it’s not to make me puke but it’s for the purpose of making me gag and choke up the mucusy ropy white saliva my body makes and spills everywhere when it’s strangling. i have to trust daddy not to choke me because i can't push myself away if i need to, but i also don't want to try. there's no want in me to try to push away. it’s one fist in my hair ramming my skull down over it in a really insistent unrelenting rhythm where sometimes they stay shallow and then sometimes they go too deep on purpose to make me make more slippery stuff for them to enjoy. they cum on my face and shove me away and down, they step on my skull to force me down to the floor so i can drink up the spit i've gotten everywhere and clean it off their boot too, while they finish eating what i've so selfishly distracted them from. i'm perfectly disgusting and they're so good to me to indulge my frivolous wants._

_when i lick my spit off the floor, i can taste tinges of the wine and the bite of buttery meat in it. i'm trying to get it clean but they keep grinding my face back and forth under their boot and it’s smearing cum into the tile. i'll be beaten later for not getting the floor cleaned up as silently instructed. that's fair. i should be able to. limbs or no limbs. pinned or not pinned. I Can't is just an excuse. i should be so lucky for them to spend the effort on teaching anyway. i'm extremely lucky._


	2. Chapter 2

2.

_it's a feeling that's heavy and wet and sits in their core where their stomach is. oil-slick black and tar-sticky. like they're about to vomit it up into my hands and into my lap when they think of something that infuriates them. when they dwells on concepts or people they hate. things that make them too angry. caustic like it will dissolve any fleshy meaty thing it touches that isn't them. curdled clotting ropy sludge. their body manufactures it like how it makes their blood and piss and marrow. it leeches out from the space between the fibers of their muscles and the gaps between their brain cells. it drips down and collects in their center, like their heart has a gravitational pull that gathers it all, congeals it together into a solid hot mass._

_my dream is for daddy to take me by the face and inject it down my throat. i want them to see it burn its way down. boiling water tunneling down through snow. i want them to look down through the hole and watch the path it takes through my body, the way it eats through the different tissues. the way my bones dissolve. the way my lungs melt together into a tacky bubble gum mass. they're preparing me to be eaten by them. they digest me before they suck my lingering mess inside, fluid and soft, sweet, runny and filling them up with primordial soup. i can't leave then. i can't get away. then i'm held inside, and i have to look. i have to look directly at the anger in their chest. that's what i'm for. that's what will make me useful. important.  
of worth. of substance. value. effort._


End file.
